Bliss
by Aloemilk
Summary: Hermione looks at her family on Christmas Eve and reflects on how blissful she is. Written as a part of the Romione Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr.


Hermione heard her husband's steps on the stairs and knew that their daughter had finally fallen asleep. She closed the book she was reading and turned in her place on the sofa, looking at him. She followed him with her eyes as he crossed the room, walked around the coffee table and sat next to her. He then briefly looked at her, smiled, and dramatically dropped his head on her lap. Hermione smiled at his antics as he sighed.

"Merlin, that girl never runs out of energy!" Ron said, and this time Hermione outright laughed. She ran her fingers through Ron's hair in the exact way she knew he liked it, and observed how his face quickly relaxed. "Unlike her old dad, who would gladly go to sleep right here. I'm _done_ for today."

"Ron, you're twenty-nine. You are not old," Hermione said, trying to appease him.

He turned in her lap so that he could look up at her, his face showing clear confusion. "Twenty-nine? Are you sure? 'Cuz I feel much older than that."

She laughed again. "Yes, I am sure."

"Well, at least I'm not in the old age of thirty, that is for _sure_ old" he joked, and Hermione _had_ to grab a pillow and pretend to suffocate him.

"Alright, alright! You're not old, either, I suppose," he said in between laughter. He wiggled a little to be more comfortable in his place, his head still using her lap as a pillow. "Hugo is still asleep, then?"

"Yes. I think he'll just sleep until the morning."

"Excellent. Hey," Ron said, evidently wanting to change the topic. "Rosie was saying something about buying biscuits for Santa? That we had to put them on a plate for him or something?"

"Oh, yeah, she must have heard about that at playschool. It's a Muggle tradition," Hermione explained, "where you'll get the children to go to sleep on Christmas Eve by telling them that Santa won't come to leave presents under the tree unless they are sleeping, but that they can leave some biscuits and milk for Santa, if they want."

"Did you do that? When you were little?"

"No. Sweets in the middle of the night were not allowed, not even for Santa."

Ron laughed, sat up, and held her hand. "I am sorry you had such a deprived childhood, love."

Hermione smirked and rolled her eyes. "I did not have a deprived childhood."

"You are okay with letting Rosie do this, though, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course. You know that I want her to grow up with a mix of Muggle and Wizard traditions. If that implies letting her pick biscuits to bribe Santa with, then so be it. Besides, we both know who's going to end up eating them, right?"

"Right," he said, a cheeky smile starting to form on his face. "Don't worry, I'll make the sacrifice and pretend to be Santa. I'll take care of everything. Now, can I convince you to do a _different_ kind of nightly activity, considering how both our children are sleeping soundly?"

"I thought you were ready to go to sleep?"

"Yeah, but seeing as I'm still young..."

* * *

On Christmas Eve Hermione entered the kitchen, where she knew Ron, Rose, and Hugo were preparing the platter with biscuits for Santa.

"How many biscuits, Daddy?"

"What do you think we leave the whole package for him? We don't want to seem selfish, do we?"

Entertained, Hermione laid against the doorframe, taking in the picture in front of her.

"We don't!" Rose replied, evidently concerned at what Santa might do if he wasn't happy with the amount of biscuits left for him.

"And I also think he might prefer a nice glass of warm butterbeer to go with his biscuits. What do you think, Hugo?"

"Yesh!" Hugo exclaimed, one of the few words he knew.

"You heard it, Rosie. Hugo is of the opinion that Father Christmas would prefer butterbeer."

"Alright. You do it. I don't touch butterbeer."

"That's right, love, you can't touch the butterbeer, because..."

"It's adults only!"

"That's my girl! Okay, you take the plate of biscuits and leave them on the coffee table. You can draw a card for Santa if you like. I'll go right away with the glass of butterbeer." He bent down and gave her the plate, which she carefully held between her two hands. "And then, when you have finished your card, we go straight up to sleep, okay?"

"Okay!" she replied, her eyebrows burrowed in concentration so that she wouldn't drop the plate, and walked towards the sitting room. "Look, Mummy! We have biscuits!"

"Yeah, I see that!"

As Hugo left the kitchen behind his sister, his steps still slightly hesitant, Hermione turned to her husband, who was pouring a glass of butterbeer to take to the sitting room. Ron straightened up and saw Hermione, who was unknowingly squinting at him.

"What?" he asked innocently as he walked to her, the glass now in his hand. It was clear he knew exactly what Hermione was thinking. "Father Christmas loves biscuits!"

"Evidently," Hermione replied. "Although I would say he perhaps went a little overboard."

"He didn't," Ron said, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her to him. "Besides, he deserves it. If he went overboard with anything, it was with the amount of gifts he got for everyone this year. "

"So Father Christmas is now trying to bribe Mother Christmas, isn't he?"

He gave her a soft peck on the lips. "Of course! Santa is _nothing_ without his wife! He's certainly hoping she'll join him for a few biscuits."

"What if I told you she takes no bribes?"

Ron laughed and took her hand, pulling her to the sitting room. "I happen to know she'll take a good bribe. And Santa has a good idea already..." he said, adding a wink for effect.

Hermione saw Ron sitting down on the floor next to Rose, commenting on her drawing. Hugo was playing with the biscuit package, trying to open it, and the Christmas tree behind them, its lights shining in different colours as they reflected in a mismatch of ornaments. The three of them looked content, their attention on different things, yet all of them tied together by a bond that was as special as can be.

Hermione's heart grew tender and soft as the love for her little family washed over her. She sat down next to the three of them and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to fix a memory of this very moment in her mind. Right here, this is what she called family bliss, and she was grateful she could call it hers. She could certainly allow herself two or three biscuits to celebrate that she had a perfect Christmas Eve to forever keep in her heart.

* * *

AN: Thanks to my dear Pili for helping me with beta-reading this story!


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